


In From The Cold

by StarsGarters



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Brainwashed Bucky Does Bad Things, Cold War, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Espionage, HYDRA Trash Party, Honeypot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2815013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsGarters/pseuds/StarsGarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink Meme Prompt: The Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes being sent on honeypot operations. </p><p>Set in 1970's Soviet Russia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In From The Cold

This city was miserable. Nothing but snow, ice and too many red-faced drunks wearing fur. He'd jumped at the chance to work for the State Department. See new places! Visit exciting locales! Bullshit. Moscow was nothing like the brochures. He didn't even speak Russian.

The only thing that kept him sane during these long dark days that passed into night without even a second glance, was the hotel bar. He could at least watch the working girls seduce their customers. They'd learned a long time ago that his tastes didn't run to them. Not even if he were desperately lonely. He wasn't. It... it just wasn't right to be alone on Christmas Eve. 

"здравствуйте." A calm voice said from behind him.

He sighed into his drink. "Sorry, I don't speak Russian." 

"Oh that's good. Because I don't really either." The accent was unmistakably Brooklyn and his heart leapt in his chest. He turned about on his bar stool and stared at the tall young man with dark hair and the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. "Mind if I have a seat?" He nodded and then quickly shook his head, stunned into silence. "Well, thanks."

"I-- I wasn't expecting to find another American here. Everyone's gone home to their families..."

"Well, my mama called me the proverbial bad penny. Whiskey please." He passed some rubles to the bartender. "I don't really have a family back home. It's just me trying to remember what Christmas carols sound like in English." His voice was soothing, charming. He was wearing black leather gloves against the cold and a smartly tailored camel overcoat. Not a hint of fur on him. Other than, perhaps, his chest. He stomped on that thought. 

"There's a band here sometimes that plays. They try. They really do." The stranger had the longest eyelashes, they brushed against his flushed cheeks as he blinked. His pink lips caressed the edge of the tumbler as he took a sip, let the whiskey warm his mouth and then he swallowed. "What's your name?"

"James. What's yours?" His smile was warm and inviting.

"George." James offered him his leather clad hand and held the handshake a little too long to just be friendly. George's pants became uncomfortably tight and he coughed to cover his discomfort. "It's nice to hear English, in person, you know?"

"Tell me about it. I do independent contracting work and this is my first tour. I think I'll ask for something a little more balmy next time. I think I've frozen at least part of my ass off just walking over here." James' laugh was hearty and he leaned over next to George while pantomiming rubbing his ass back to life. 

"Isn't that the truth? I thought I could handle the cold, I mean I've lived in Buffalo for Christ's sake, but this is a special kind of frozen hell." He took a swallow of his drink and fortified with liquid courage, he said, "I'm lucky. I have a _room_ here. I don't have to walk anywhere. You could come up and get warm, you know, if you wanted to." He chewed on his lip and held his breath. He wasn't usually this forward, but god damn it was cold and he was  _lonely_. 

James reached out with his gloved hand and wiped a small drip of gin and tonic off the corner of George's mouth. The gesture was unbearably intimate and George leaned into his touch, nearly falling off the stool. "That's mighty charitable of you George. I've been looking forward to coming in out of the cold."

++

James followed George up to his room and leaned against the door, giving him an appraising once over. "You like what you see?" George asked, opening the lock, his hands shook. 

"I _do_. You look famished. Are you hungry, Georgie-boy?"

George gulped, "I'm starving."

James winked at him and nodded. "Then what are we waiting for? An engraved invitation?" He walked in, sauntering like he owned the whole hotel and George thanked God for his good luck. 

One button, then two. His coat fell to the floor. James worked his clever gloved fingers, rubbing George's cock through his pants. "Oh, you're a big one. Wonder if I can take this all the way down." He kissed against George's neck and nibbled on his earlobe.

"You're-- welcome to-- try! Oh my _god_." George gasped, James sank to his knees and looked up at him with twinkling blue eyes. His lips opened wide and took George's cock deep within. The bastard was  _smiling. Smiling_ while sucking his cock like a fucking Hoover. George's eyes rolled back in his head and he groaned at the sweetness of it all. What had he done to deserve this pleasure? It didn't take long for George to shudder and empty his balls down the blue-eyed boy's eager throat. He gasped and panted, "You-- You-- you're wonderful!"

"I _am_. Aren't I?" James sat on the bed and patted it, "Come on over here and find out just  _how_ wonderful I really am." It seemed odd to George that his delightful partner wouldn't take off all of his clothing, but his enthusiasm was more intoxicating than the purest vodka. 

George snored soundly, exhausted from creative debauchery and booze.

James looked out the window and flashed a small light three times. He watched for the return signal and then turned, his expression curiously blank. There were no witnesses, no one to perform for so there was no need for theatrics such as a smile or witty banter. He planted a few bugs, sophisticated listening devices, then moved to the target's discarded clothing. He made copies of the keys with wax, took a few pictures of the keycard and identification. His mission was almost complete. 

James loomed over the bed, he slowly stripped off his gloves. There was something shiny and  _wrong_ with his left hand. He leaned over and caressed George's face with his right hand. "Hey, beautiful. What are you doing?" George asked groggily.

"Hey buddy. Did you ever ride the Cyclone on Coney Island?" His voice was monotone. He lunged and squeezed George's throat with a cold hand that was stronger than any human's. George's eyes bulged and he struggled for breath. His legs kicked and thrashed, he clawed at the metal hand until the thrashing weakened and stopped. The assassin released his grip and pushed back George's blonde hair from his forehead. In this light, the dead man almost looked  _familiar._

 "Это не что иное." He whispered to himself as he left the scene. "Это не что иное." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> здравствуйте is "Hello."
> 
> Это не что иное roughly translates to "It is nothing."


End file.
